Wanna Be Somebodies

GERARD’S P.O.V.
I look from August to Luke, desperate for some sort of explanation. Surely it wasn’t just what that one boy had said that set Frank off; he’s heard worse, I’ve heard worse, we’ve all heard worse. But yet, something about that moved him to tears, and not the soft gentle roll down your cheek and drop off your chin kind, but the bubbling, streaming hot kind. I must be missing something.
“Context?” I demand.
August shrugs and Luke ducks his head, telling, “I think I ticked him off.”
“Yeah, what was all that about?” August asks.
“Frank doesn’t understand that when I stand up for him, I put my ass on the line,” Luke insists. “He appreciates, but he doesn’t empathize. He thinks that it’s so easy for me to get out of running.” He exhales as he picks at his fingernails, adding, “Not to mention, if I had said I had nothing to do with it, it’s not like anyone on the team would back me up. If anything, I’d run more.”
“I’m kind of worried,” I confess. “I mean, that kid seemed pretty mad and even you’re annoyed, Luke. Do you think anyone’s gonna hurt Frankie?”
Luke lifts and raises his shoulders, admitting, “I’d be lying if I said it was out of the question.”
I pout, mumbling, “I should really go catch up with him, make sure everything’s alright.”
“You do that,” August tells, patting me on the shoulder. “Good luck.”
I nod, heading out the same way Frank had gone. I figure he’s gone to his dorm, so of course that’s the first place I head to. I knock on his door to no answer, then clear my throat, calling, “Frank, it’s me. I know you’re in there.”
The door opens, slowly at first, then wide. He’s standing there, this drooping, slouched heap of boy. Looking remarkably frail, he wipes his nose on his sleeve, trying to hold back the tears still building in his eyes.
I allow myself inside, closing the door behind myself. I wrap my arms around him, rubbing his back as I ask, “Was it what the boy said?”
Frank shakes his head as he weeps, choking out, “No.”
“What was it then?” I ask. I have a hand threading in his hair now. His locks are soft and damp in my hand.
“Everything,” he cries. “Just you and me and Luke and everything. Nobody is happy and everything sucks.”
I frown sadly. “That was just the straw that broke the camel’s back, huh?”
He nods gradually, up, center, down, center. Reeling back from where he’d been buried in my shoulder moments ago, he looks me in the eyes, smiling slightly. “I’m glad you’re here, though.”
I nod, deciding, “Me too.”
He finally breaks the hug, walking over to his bunk and lying back.
“Are we heading back to supper or what?” I question.
“Can we just… not go?” Frank pleads. “I don’t want anyone to make fun of me. Besides, I’m not very hungry. I kind of lost my appetite, to be honest.”
“Sure,” I agree. “I can stand to miss a meal.”
“Can we relax?” Frank begs. “I can get Netflix going. I need to take some mental health recuperation time.”
“Don’t you have a test tomorrow?” I remind.
“Damn Algebra to hell; I’m hurting and that’s first and foremost in my mind,” Frank insists. With that, he inches over closer to the wall, grabbing the remote off the nightstand as he clears a spot for me to lie next to him.
I do so obediently, my back curving to his stomach like a mold. He sighs contently in my ear, seeming to have calmed down some from his… let’s call it an episode. Still, his breathing is somewhat irregular, and I’m positive his eyes are still stained red. They’ll stay that way for some time; he’s never been a quick recovering crier. I guess I’ve gotten so used to lying about my mood that I’ve learned how to make that post-crying look end as quickly as possible. It’s saved my ass a time or two, and I’m sure it will continue to serve its purpose down the road.
I know that he’s chosen Jackass before the episode even starts. When Frank is upset, he wants nothing more than to watch a bunch of guys do dangerous, stupid things and possibly get very injured. It’s not his favorite thing in the world, but when the world is his least favorite, it helps a lot.
And that’s saying something. Frank gets like that when he’s not happy; he blows up, and he’ll talk about it, and then he wants nothing to do with any of it. He’s always been that way. As soon as it’s off his chest, he seems like a different person almost. If only the talking part came before these little breakdowns that he is nailed by every so often.
But maybe all that stuff doesn’t matter so much. Maybe it’s good for him, good for us, to have these moments. These are what suck most, but they’re also what build us, I decide. No matter how awful and gloomy it may be, these are the things that remind us that the other really does care. Sure, I wish Frank wasn’t reduced to tears whenever possible, but if that means that I am there to coax him through it, then maybe it isn’t all bad. Because for every minute Frank spends crying, we spend about twice as long recovering together. Even if that just means cuddling in bed and watching a bunch of grown men play with bulls, maybe that’s what we need from time to time. As bleak as these times may seem, perhaps life would be worse off without them.
Sneaking a glance back at him, I see he’s about to fall asleep. I just grab his arm and tighten it around my waist, wanting nothing more than for him to remember, even if it’s just for a couple hours or so, that I love him with all my heart, more than I’ll ever admit, and much more than he’ll ever know.

Notes

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